


Prompt Care

by voiceless_terror



Series: TMA Whumptober [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Blood, But make it fluffy, Day Ten: Trail of Blood, First Aid but Make it Shitty, M/M, Season 1, Whumptober 2020, minor injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26929954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: Martin has a minor injury at work. Jon attempts first aid. The key word here is 'attempts.'
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: TMA Whumptober [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952800
Comments: 41
Kudos: 254





	Prompt Care

There was a trail of blood leading to the break room.

Martin didn’t _mean_ to make a mess. He’s always been incredibly tidy- he had to be, really, with a mother like his. Couldn’t have her tripping over anything in the house and yelling at him later. Martin was a quick study and now whenever he left a room it tended to be cleaner than when he entered it.

So when he carelessly sliced his hand with a particularly sharp letter-opener he immediately made his way to the break room sink to bleed more conveniently and promised himself to clean up the aftermath. It wasn’t a very deep cut- it wouldn’t need stitches, but his left palm was still bleeding rather profusely. “Damn,” he cursed as he grabbed at a towel to halt the flow of blood which was now trickling down his arm. _Hope I didn’t get anything on the file. Last thing I need is Jon yelling at me for ‘damaging institute property’ or whatever._

“Good lord, what is this?” _Wonderful._ He turned to see Jon standing in the doorway, his nose wrinkled in disgust at the droplets on the ground. _Hey, it’s not_ that _much._ It irritated him how adorable he found the expression on Jon’s face. Despite how badly his boss treated him, summoning up anger against him was not one of his strong suits.

“Just a- ah, ow- minor cut here, nothing to worry about,” he stuttered, attempting to go for a sheepish smile. He hissed as he removed the towel to inspect the wound- the bleeding seemed to be slowing down, but the giant red stain on the towel was a bit disturbing. Martin’s a deft hand at first aid but the kit was in the main break room upstairs and of course the institute wouldn’t spring for more than one. “I’ll clean it up, I promise. I’m just going to go-”

_“Martin,”_ Jon looked faintly nauseated and to his shock, slightly concerned. He approached with quick steps, taking Martin’s arm and grabbing it rather abruptly to inspect it. He looked even more disgusted, if possible, but Martin was too shocked by his closeness to feel offended. “Hold on.”

“U-Um, alright,” he stood motionless and bleeding as Jon started to take control of the situation, fumbling through drawers. It warmed his heart a bit to think that he might actually care enough to-

_Hang on._

In Jon’s hands was a bundle of cheap napkins from Tim’s last takeaway and a roll of scotch tape. And he looked... _proud?_ He had the same look on his face that he got whenever he lectured Martin- haughty in the way of ‘I know exactly what I’m talking about and exactly what I’m doing.’ But instead of research methods it was first aid, and instead of file folders and statements it was napkins and a roll of tape. Martin was frozen in fear, unsure of what Jon had planned.

“This should do the trick,” Jon’s voice was matter-of-fact and Martin could only gape as he pressed a stack of rough napkins to his palm and held it there, ignoring Martin’s hiss of pain. “Now hold that,” he instructed. Martin did as he was told, obedient even to his own detriment. And then he watched in absolute horror as Jonathan Sims unspooled the roll of tape and wound it around the napkins, his brow furrowed in concentration as he executed his post-apocalyptic version of first aid as if they were in an abandoned McDonald’s parking lot instead of a fully-functioning research institution. _Why do I find this man attractive? What the hell is wrong with me? What the hell is wrong with_ him? 

“There!” Jon said as he finished his monstrosity, looking at Martin’s hand (or what he could see of it, being a rolled up mass of paper and adhesive) with an approving eye. “That should be fine for now, right?” He looked up at Martin, his eyes asking- no, _expecting_ gratitude. He wondered, not for the first time, how Jon had managed to live long enough to get to this position.

“Hnh,” he responded intelligently, attempting to make some sort of nod. His hand was actually in quite a bit of pain now, stinging as the napkin started to cling to the wound. Martin held it back over the sink as he was certain this makeshift bandage wasn’t going to last long (and he was also going to rip it off as soon as Jon exited the room, _Jesus Christ)._ Jon opened his mouth to respond before noticing his closeness and abruptly back-stepping, almost hitting a chair in his haste to get away.

“W-Well,” he stuttered, and the haughty mask was right back in place, though his face was a little red. “Now you won’t bleed everywhere and I won’t have to look at it.” Jon paused in the doorway, giving him one last look. “You’re welcome.” The door shut.

Martin stood in place for several seconds, his hand still hovering over the sink. “Thanks?”

A moment later the door reopened and Martin was terrified it would be Jon armed with more tape but it was only Sasha. “What’s all this-are you alright, Martin?” She eyed him critically. “You look really pale. Why don’t you sit down?” He _was_ feeling light-headed and rather shaky. He sat down on a chair as Sasha came over, only then noticing his hand. “Um, what is-”

“Cut my hand,” he replied faintly, laying his hand across the table as Sasha sat down. “Jon...helped me patch it up.” Sasha stared.

“Is that scotch tape and napkins?”

“It is absolutely scotch tape and napkins.” 

They both stared at each other before bursting into uncontrollable laughter, tears streaming down Martin’s face as he looked at the bundle of trash attached to his hand. Sasha was no better, practically choking on laughter as she got back up. “I’m going to go fetch the first aid kit. _Really,_ Martin-why did you let him do that?”

“I honestly don’t know,” he said as his chuckles died off. “I think I might have blacked out for a moment there.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em. Just wait until I tell Tim.”

Sasha came back swiftly and helped him disassemble Jon’s bandage with a minimal amount of pain and replace it with something much saner. Luckily it had been on his left hand, meaning he could still type and write with his right. Jon had left a file at his desk and he still had quite a bit of work to do. But as he made his way out of the break room he noticed the file was gone- now on Tim’s desk- and in its place was a rapidly cooling cup of tea in his favorite mug. It tasted just the way Jon liked it and exactly the way Martin hated his. 

He drank the entire cup.

**Author's Note:**

> I will not take any questions about how fluffy my whumptobers have been. I have some terribly mean ones from previous days, but those take a bit more finessing before I post. Anyway, have this. Let me know how you liked!
> 
> You can reach me @voiceless-terror on tumblr for asks/prompts. Thanks for reading!


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